Jude and Joey at "picture day" at St. Patrick Church.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Box
Here's the thing about boxes. You don't have to plug them in, turn them on or put them together. No assembly required. A day or two after this photo was taken, J.P. turned this box into a pretend spaceship. Go figure.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Too Much Information
"TMI" or, for those of us not in our mid-20s or younger, "Too Much Information." That's what I'm about to give you.
Saturday morning, I ran the Country Music Half-Marathon. There's nothing unusual about that, as its a race I run almost every year. What was unusual, however, is that I had a brutal, brutal run (1:52 or so), mostly because I just haven't had time to get many long runs in on weekends. In addition, I haven't been putting in as much mileage as I normally do. That's what having a second child will do to you, I suppose. I planned on running 1:50, so I wasn't disappointed in the time I ran, just with how tough the run was and how terrible I felt the last 3 miles.
Now, here where things get interesting.
Between mile 10 and 11, I noticed my nipples were chafing, even though I had put some "Body Glide" on them prior to the race. I was wearing a relatively new, Golite running shirt and, for some reason (the fabric, the temperature, etc.), it chafed my nipples. I wasn't hurting enough to take my shirt off during the race - that would have hurt the runners around me - or to avail myself of the vaseline that was being handed out by medical personnel along the route. I didn't think it was the bad.
I was wrong, as I quickly realized when the race was over. Walking back to my truck, my nipples hurt with every step - literally - as the fabric of my shirt touched them. Taking a shower after I got home was pure torture.
Last night, when I climbed into bed beside Jude about 11 p.m., I couldn't get comfortable. My nipples were still hurting. Again, just the slightest touch of the fabric of my t-shirt sent ripples was painful. Half jokingly, I said to Jude, "I might need some of that stuff you rub on your nipples." Without missing a beat as she pumped breast milk (something she hates to do, by the way) and without looking at me, she reached over to her bedside table, picked up a tube of something and handed it to me. Calling her bluff, I unscrewd the top, squeezed a little bit of "goo" out of the tube and rubbed it on my left, then right, nipple. Then, I moaned, which caused her to simultaneously laugh and shake her head sadly.
When I asked her what would happen next, she suggested my breast milk would come in sometime in the next three days. I laughed.
Then I stopped laughing. I stopped laughing because my nipples began to burn like someone was holding a lit match to them. That's when Jude started laughing harder.
I rushed into the bathroom, unsure of what to do. I wet some Kleenex and tried to rub teh "goo" off my nipples. This, of course, made them hurt worse. Ditto for when I tried to dry my nipples with a paper towel. Jude kept laughing. Finally, I staggered in the hall to Joey's changing table, found a tube of straight up vaseline, and slathered it on my nipples.
When I recounted this story tonight to our friend, Cyndi Baines, she laughed her ass off. Then she told me I had gotten just a tiny taste of what it's like to be a woman. And she was right.
If that's what it's like to be a woman, I thought, then a tiny taste is all I want.
Saturday morning, I ran the Country Music Half-Marathon. There's nothing unusual about that, as its a race I run almost every year. What was unusual, however, is that I had a brutal, brutal run (1:52 or so), mostly because I just haven't had time to get many long runs in on weekends. In addition, I haven't been putting in as much mileage as I normally do. That's what having a second child will do to you, I suppose. I planned on running 1:50, so I wasn't disappointed in the time I ran, just with how tough the run was and how terrible I felt the last 3 miles.
Now, here where things get interesting.
Between mile 10 and 11, I noticed my nipples were chafing, even though I had put some "Body Glide" on them prior to the race. I was wearing a relatively new, Golite running shirt and, for some reason (the fabric, the temperature, etc.), it chafed my nipples. I wasn't hurting enough to take my shirt off during the race - that would have hurt the runners around me - or to avail myself of the vaseline that was being handed out by medical personnel along the route. I didn't think it was the bad.
I was wrong, as I quickly realized when the race was over. Walking back to my truck, my nipples hurt with every step - literally - as the fabric of my shirt touched them. Taking a shower after I got home was pure torture.
Last night, when I climbed into bed beside Jude about 11 p.m., I couldn't get comfortable. My nipples were still hurting. Again, just the slightest touch of the fabric of my t-shirt sent ripples was painful. Half jokingly, I said to Jude, "I might need some of that stuff you rub on your nipples." Without missing a beat as she pumped breast milk (something she hates to do, by the way) and without looking at me, she reached over to her bedside table, picked up a tube of something and handed it to me. Calling her bluff, I unscrewd the top, squeezed a little bit of "goo" out of the tube and rubbed it on my left, then right, nipple. Then, I moaned, which caused her to simultaneously laugh and shake her head sadly.
When I asked her what would happen next, she suggested my breast milk would come in sometime in the next three days. I laughed.
Then I stopped laughing. I stopped laughing because my nipples began to burn like someone was holding a lit match to them. That's when Jude started laughing harder.
I rushed into the bathroom, unsure of what to do. I wet some Kleenex and tried to rub teh "goo" off my nipples. This, of course, made them hurt worse. Ditto for when I tried to dry my nipples with a paper towel. Jude kept laughing. Finally, I staggered in the hall to Joey's changing table, found a tube of straight up vaseline, and slathered it on my nipples.
When I recounted this story tonight to our friend, Cyndi Baines, she laughed her ass off. Then she told me I had gotten just a tiny taste of what it's like to be a woman. And she was right.
If that's what it's like to be a woman, I thought, then a tiny taste is all I want.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Running with J.P.
As anyone who knows me undoubtedly is aware, running is a big part of my life. Well, my family knows that better than anyone, because I am forever going for a run, coming back from a run or trying to find time or juggle my schedule so I can go for a run.
Since Joey's birth, I've found it's difficult to find time to run as regularly as I normally do. For example, I used to run a lot after Jude and I put J.P. to bed, about 8:30 p.m. or so. That's changed as of late, though, since I usually take Joey after J.P. goes to bed, so Jude can nap for at least an hour before she feeds him. I've run a few times at 10:15 p.m., after I hand Joey off to Jude, but I don't like to run that late because it's hard for me to unwind afterwards and get to bed at a semi-decent hour. Lately I've started getting up at 5:30 a.m. and running, which actually works pretty well.
This afternoon, after I put J.P. down for his nap and Jude and Joey settled in for a nap, as well, I headed over to Shelby Bottoms to get one final long run in before the Country Music Half-Marathon this Saturday. I had a great 11-mile run, except for the part where an unleashed dog got about a 100 yard head start, ran straight toward me and collided head first with my left knee, knocking me to the ground. I was extraordinarily pissed when I got up, but the lady that owned the dog felt so bad my anger quickly melted away and I patted the dog on the head and finished my run.
The best part, though, is that when I got home, J.P. wanted to go for a run with me around the block. Tired legs and all, off we went before I even sat down. We ran together up Elliott Avenue and stopped at the alley where our friends, Reagan and Allison live (in Rob and Ann Marie Elliott's old house). We walked up the alley, then ran up Benton Avenue and back to our house. J.P. was breathing hard when we got home, but he was really proud that he had run with me. And I, of course, was proud that he wanted to.
Since Joey's birth, I've found it's difficult to find time to run as regularly as I normally do. For example, I used to run a lot after Jude and I put J.P. to bed, about 8:30 p.m. or so. That's changed as of late, though, since I usually take Joey after J.P. goes to bed, so Jude can nap for at least an hour before she feeds him. I've run a few times at 10:15 p.m., after I hand Joey off to Jude, but I don't like to run that late because it's hard for me to unwind afterwards and get to bed at a semi-decent hour. Lately I've started getting up at 5:30 a.m. and running, which actually works pretty well.
This afternoon, after I put J.P. down for his nap and Jude and Joey settled in for a nap, as well, I headed over to Shelby Bottoms to get one final long run in before the Country Music Half-Marathon this Saturday. I had a great 11-mile run, except for the part where an unleashed dog got about a 100 yard head start, ran straight toward me and collided head first with my left knee, knocking me to the ground. I was extraordinarily pissed when I got up, but the lady that owned the dog felt so bad my anger quickly melted away and I patted the dog on the head and finished my run.
The best part, though, is that when I got home, J.P. wanted to go for a run with me around the block. Tired legs and all, off we went before I even sat down. We ran together up Elliott Avenue and stopped at the alley where our friends, Reagan and Allison live (in Rob and Ann Marie Elliott's old house). We walked up the alley, then ran up Benton Avenue and back to our house. J.P. was breathing hard when we got home, but he was really proud that he had run with me. And I, of course, was proud that he wanted to.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Monster Baby
Thursday, Jude and I took Joey to the doctor for his 8 week check-up. We had been spiritedly debating his weight. My guess was 8 lbs 8 oz and Jude's guess was 9 lbs 5 oz. Keep in mind, of course, Joey was 7 lbs 7 oz when he was born and little over 8 lbs when we visited the doctor for his 2 week check-up, 6 weeks ago.
When our nurse, Christie, set Joey down on the scale and weighed him, Jude and just stared at each other, then started laughing. 12 lbs 10 oz! He gained more than 4 lbs in the past 6 weeks. Joey eats like a champ and we've kept him on a regular feeding schedule, but still . . . 12 lbs 10 oz! He measured 23 1/2 inches, so he's grown 3 inches in the past 6 weeks. Clearly, Jude's breast milk contains steroids or human growth hormone.
Joey's growing so fast, which is a good thing. He's making new sounds, most recently laughing a little when I laugh while I'm holding him in my lap. He's smiling a lot more now, particularly after he finishes eating. This afternoon, Jude and I were laying in bed and Joey was in her lap, on the "boppy pillow." She was talking to him and smiling and, in response, he looked up at her and smiled, even crinkling his eyes up for good measure. It's fun to talk to him, to smile and laugh, to work hard and get rewarded with a smile. There's nothing like it, really.
When our nurse, Christie, set Joey down on the scale and weighed him, Jude and just stared at each other, then started laughing. 12 lbs 10 oz! He gained more than 4 lbs in the past 6 weeks. Joey eats like a champ and we've kept him on a regular feeding schedule, but still . . . 12 lbs 10 oz! He measured 23 1/2 inches, so he's grown 3 inches in the past 6 weeks. Clearly, Jude's breast milk contains steroids or human growth hormone.
Joey's growing so fast, which is a good thing. He's making new sounds, most recently laughing a little when I laugh while I'm holding him in my lap. He's smiling a lot more now, particularly after he finishes eating. This afternoon, Jude and I were laying in bed and Joey was in her lap, on the "boppy pillow." She was talking to him and smiling and, in response, he looked up at her and smiled, even crinkling his eyes up for good measure. It's fun to talk to him, to smile and laugh, to work hard and get rewarded with a smile. There's nothing like it, really.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
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